Leaping the mettlesome mounts into the road, the posse thundered up the street, the cheers and shouts of the spectators ringing in their ears.
Eager to wipe out the disgrace of the escape of the notorious outlaws, the men rode like fiends.
Past the houses on the outskirts of the town they dashed, never heeding the questions of the people who were attracted by the rumble of the many hoof beats.
But as they gained the clear field beyond the village, they could see no sign of the men they were chasing.
"We've missed 'em again! We ought to have followed the woods. We could at least have seen where the devils entered," growled the disgusted members of the posse.
"Silence in the ranks!" snapped Jones, the criticism rankling. "They may have struck into the road. We can soon tell."
For once, the detective had anticipated the move of the world-famous desperado.
Noticing that the crowd was all up in the air as to what to do, Jesse had swung his injured pal across the saddle in front of him, getting back into the seat himself and ordering Cole to do the same.
"We've got a good lead," he chuckled. "And we can increase it by getting into the highway. We'll ride till we come to Jack Brett's woods and strike for his cabin. If Clell's too badly done up to go on, he'll be safe there."